The Horde's Champion Series - Part I: Burning Blade
by Elluminatus
Summary: After seeking refuge in the wilds of Kalimdor, Rexxar briefly returned to Orgrimmar to seek medical aid for an old orc who was attacked by the Burning Blade clan. These are the events that lead up to his return.


**Chapter 1: The Hunt**

He could feel the heat of the Barren sand beneath him seeping into his boots. Not a cloud in the sky to protect the champion's back from the harsh sun. Misha patrolled the area as the half orc tracked his prey. Markings in the soil. Imprints of a small herd of Barrens antelope. He could already taste the meat. Sweet but hearty. A rarity he wouldn't forsake. He hated taking the life of an animal, but their sacrifice was never in vain.

The prints lead down through a small path in a band of trees. Scorpid and quilboar would prove to be his only barrier between them and their meal. The quilboar would scatter, and if startled, the scorpid may attack. The fatal mistake of a simple beast.

Misha circled him, being careful not to get too close to startle the antelope. An excellent tracker, a loyal protector, and a fierce killer. The champion couldn't ask for a better companion. A bond between orc and beast, amplified through his ogre bloodline. He always had a spiritual bond with animals that couldn't be explained. He couldn't speak with them, and they couldn't speak with him, but they always understood one another. Through the best of times, and the worst of times, Misha was there beside him.

As the hunt continued, the prints became more fresh. Through the tree line he spotted the antelope. Maybe a dozen of them. Possibly more. It didn't matter, because he would only need two; one for him, and one for Misha.

He let out a faint whistle and motioned for Misha to come over to him. He ran behind the nearest tree that could hide his large stature. Misha followed.

"Are you ready?" he asked. He placed his hand on her head, ruffling her fur. He took his longbow off of his shoulder. Heavily wooded, with a draw heavier than any human in the Eastern Kingdoms could pull. He knocked an arrow and took his aim. He lined up the shot and released the arrow. As the arrow connected with the antelope, Misha charged into the herd. Any fool who believed her size would make her slow, would be sorely mistaken. The champion followed her.

The herd scattered, taking off in any direction they could to escape. Bright red dust and dirt were kicked up from the fleeing stampede. He took another arrow from his quiver but couldn't line up his shot. He called Misha back. They had to tend to the fallen antelope before the carrion or other scavengers began picking away at it.

"We'll get another later," he said, comforting his heavily panting companion. He pulled the arrow from the fallen antelope and threw the corpse over his shoulder. They were only but a few paces from camp. He'd share what he could with Misha, and then track the others after the meal had set.

 **Chapter 2: Ransacked**

Misha stopped short. She raised her nose into the air. He turned to her and removed his axe from his side carrier. "What is it girl?" he asked.

He looked ahead to the camp and found their tent destroyed and ransacked. Misha growled. He gripped his axe tighter. This wasn't a sandstorm or a curious animal.

Alliance.

It must be another expedition through the Barrens, raiding his home in search of Horde, he thought.

He approached the shambles of his camp with caution. When he got closer, he was able to identify the prints in the hot Barren sand. Too big to be from any race in the Alliance. This was orc. His bed, his home, his belongings, all things a member of the horde would recognize, and not dare strife through. His skins were missing, his vegetation storage raided, the carrier baskets destroyed. Misha's bed cut to splinters. There was only one group with enough gall to destroy the champion's home.

He collected what was salvageable, and searched for any marking or proof of his intruder's identity. Nothing.

Misha froze cold. Her gaze fixed only a few meters from their home, almost undetectable through the barren rock. The champion turned to her direction. The banner flew high on a wooden stake.

The Burning Blade.

The Burning Blade plagued Kalimdor like a virus, defiling it with their Fel Magic and hiring their blade masters as mercenaries and hired muscle. Never had they crossed far into this territory. The champion went over to the banner and pulled it from the ground. He snapped it over his knee like a branch. He grumbled in disgust, throwing the crimson flag to the ground. They'd regret crossing into these lands.

He clasped his axe back onto his side carrier and began following the orc trail. He could see a clear path of where the vermin burrowed themselves.

A new hunt begins.

 **Chapter 3: Blood and Thunder**

The barren hills are vast and run steep. A vantage point for Misha and the champion to scout their new target. He knew they must be purged from this area, whether he could do it alone, he did not yet know.

They are a proud and arrogant clan, making them almost too easy to track with the banners they leave in their wake. The champion could see the crimson of Burning Blade encampment below. He counted nearly eight of them around the fire they had built for sundown. He knew there were possibly more in the surrounding tents. He took the longbow off of his shoulder and knocked an arrow. He lined up his shot with the orc farthest to the back. He could afford the time to focus his first shot. He knew if he could land this shot, the others would be easier to pick off.

He drew the bow back. He could feel the pressure of the string between his fingers, the raw power aching for release. He released the string and like a bolt of the lightning the arrow struck the orc with enough power to knock him back into a nearby tent. The orcs scurried to grab their weapons. The champion knocked another arrow. He pulled the string back and lined up his shot. Release. Another orc down. They hid behind nearby dirt mounds and tents. He could hear their war cries from the hilltop. They were rallying the others.

Misha stirred with anticipation. She lived for the hunt.

 _Just like rats_ , he thought. He needed a better vantage point to clip off the hiding orcs.

He jumped down the side of the hill, his boots crashing with the Barren clay as he landed. He kept his bow steady, and knocked another arrow. Misha fell in line behind him.

"Use the prisoner!" he heard a blademaster yell.

He drew the bow back and fired at one of the orcs that was peering around the corner of a mound. Direct shot to the chest. The orc fell back. He died before his body hit the ground. The champion drew another arrow from his quiver.

"Attack!" he heard from behind a tent. The Burning Blade charged at him. Nearly fifteen orcs advanced towards them with their weapons in hand. Lightly armored. _The arrogance_. The champion brought his bow back and fired. One down. He retreated back as he knocked another arrow and fired. Another down. Unrelenting they charged forward. He threw his bow to the ground and removed his axe from his belt carrier. He pulled the Alliance great sword he used as a dagger from the sheath behind him and readied it in his other hand.

"Misha, attack!" he howled.

Misha roared ahead fearlessly. The champion charged forward. Misha outpaced him. The distance between the charging blademasters and Misha shortened rapidly. The champion readied his weapons.

Misha barreled through the orc formation line. Knocking five of them over and trampling them. The champion swung his axe around him, slicing through two of the orcs in one swift strike. The others still standing formed a circle around him. Misha broke their formation, mauling two more in a sweeping attack. She wrapped her jaw around one of their throats, crushing it almost effortlessly. The champion stuck his dagger through shoulder of another. Other blademasters came from around the surrounding tents and flanked them.

"Enough," came a voice from behind them. The blademasters still standing kept their weapons pointed at the champion but backed out of his range. Misha retreated to the champion's side. "Is this who you seek, half-breed?"

The champion could see the Fel magic burning from the orc's eyes. He held a dagger to an old shaman's throat. The shaman, taken hostage while on a pilgrimage seeking the earth elemental hidden deep in these lands, wore nothing but a ceremonial garb to protect himself.

"Release him, warlock," the champion demanded.

"You do not command me, half-breed," the warlock scoured.

"I am Rexxar, Champion of the Horde, and I demand you, with the authority of Thrall and Vol'jin, to release the orc and lay down your weapons, or die," he said.

The warlock howled in laughter. "Your threats have no merit here, ogre. I do not recognize your Horde."

Fel energy burst through the Warlock's hand, piercing the Shaman. The shaman cried out in pain.

"So be it," Rexxar said. "Misha!"

Misha charged back into the group of blade masters. Every swipe, bringing another down.

Rexxar threw his axe at one of the blade masters, splitting his abdomen. He dodged the swing of an axe and struck down a jabbing spear. He countered their attacks with his own. Misha mauled the Blademasters. When she felt their life leave them, she lunged at another.

He heard another shriek of pain coming from the shaman. His life force was being drained.

Rexxar grabbed the axe from the corpse of the fallen blademaster and charged toward the warlock. Misha guarded his advance, clearing the Burning Blade that followed him.

The warlock fixed his gaze at Rexxar. His eyes pulsing bright with Fel magic. He raised a hand and Rexxar felt his legs and arms suddenly grow heavy. He dropped to his knees as the weight of the curse consumed him. Rexxar looked down at his chest as the green magic erupted from it. He felt himself grow weaker. His spirit being crushed as his body deteriorated. The shaman with the last bit of strength he had left grabbed the ankle of the warlock and began to chant. A surge of earthen magic shocked the warlock long enough for the champion to compose himself.

Rexxar lunged forward, grabbing the warlock by the throat and lifting him off of his feet. "Release me," the warlock said, grabbing at his throat.

"You don't command me," Rexxar said, closing his grip on the warlock's neck. When he felt his bones snap, he dropped the warlock's corpse to the ground.

"Can you travel, shaman?" Rexxar asked, extending a hand to help the shaman up.

"Yes, I believe so," he said, taking hold of the champion.

Misha limped back to Rexxar and the shaman. Her paws and mouth heavily stained with orc blood. Behind them lay the fallen corpses of the blademasters. Rexxar could see a stab wound in one of Misha's legs, and several slashes on her sides.

"We will rest for the night. At dawn, we make our way to Orgrimmar," Rexxar said. "They must be warned of what's coming."


End file.
